


Spark off, sort of

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Communication, Condoms, Dean Winchester Being an Idiot, M/M, Mistakes were made, Sparks Fly, babysnotaprop, fic-divergent, from, prison cells, those two things Dean will never forget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 22:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean has regrets, deep regrets, and a pounding headache. Instead of sleeping his mistakes off in the cell, Dean gets preoccupied with his cellmate.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Spark off, sort of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BabysNotaProp (SuzetteB)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzetteB/gifts).

> This is a fic-divergent ficlet based on dear BabysNotaProp's fic "Sparks Fly". archiveofourown.org/works/19454053  
You do not have to have read it to understand this story, but do read it anyway <3. It's amazing.
> 
> For you, Suz. I was inspired by your fic, but most of all from your prompt: 
> 
> “Well, this is a nice change of scenery.”  
“It’s a prison cell.”
> 
> I hope it will bring you a smile, as I smiled while writing it. All my love to you <3

Dean stares at the stone wall, trying his best not to ogle at the fine specimen of a man to his right. At first, when the cell doors opened, Dean thought the officer had made a mistake. Surely, a man with thick legs like that didn't belong in a cell. The only offense he was guilty of was looking like a librarian. A hot librarian, but still. He had seen blue mesmerizing eyes, slight scruff that would scrape against his cheek hotly when he leaned in for a kiss. Dean turns his head slightly, and squints as he notices the pants on the other man. Was that corduroy? Definitely a librarian.

Pants! Dean's eyes go down to his own legs and he breathes a sigh of relief. He had pants on. Thank the fucking gods, or thing would have been awkward. He chuckles slightly.

His bunkmate clears his throat and Dean waits patiently for the onslaught of questions but gets a different kind of attack instead when the headache sets in. Hello, beers of Christmas past. It's been four minutes or forty, an eternity, not that Dean is counting and the silence is killing him.

“Well, this is a nice change of scenery.” It was, cause the scenery, or rather scenario that had been stuck in Dean's head since he arrived at this involuntary brick bed and breakfast was of the less pleasant kind.

“It's a prison cell”, Corduroy dude replies.

One point to him. To both of them, it's not like Dean didn't know where he was. He angels his body somewhat, just so he can look at the guy again but it translates to only his neck craning in an awkward position. Mind is with him, sort of, body not so much. He turns so his back is against the wall, pressed into the corner and he casually lifts his legs up but the space is too narrow and they slide down again like sad little noodle limbs.

Corduroy dude arches an eyebrow and Dean sees an amused glint in the man's eyes. Dean grins. He's basically halfway in already. And Sam said he was not charming? Oh, man was he wrong.

“Yeah. Beats being cold outside at least.” Dean chases away the flashback of his exposed dick shriveling against the night air. Christ. Not too hungover to forget _that _apparently.

The man nods, a quirk to his lips. “It was not that cold outside a few hours ago. I'd rather take being slightly cold over this. But this is fine. It could have been worse.”

Dean nods and points at the man with his index finger, thumbs up. Finger guns. He lowers his hands when he remembers the last time he did that, right before the police offer yanked his sorry ass into the car. Dean was not liking the way his brain was obsessively preoccupied with reliving his worst hits. A beer would've solved that. His pounding headache vehemently reminds him that that was a bad idea. And unlikely. The cops would hardly hand him his poison of choice. And wasn't a hangover supposed to distract you from all the bad choices you made the night before? Even his hangover sucked balls.

He feels the man's eyes on him and it does things to him. His body starts pounding again but it's the good body parts, his heart, yes, thank you very much, he's still alive after the _mistake_ and his dick is sort of twitching, more out of duty than anything else. Library guy is ridiculously hot but miniDean has had his share of fun for the _month_. His head joins in on the fun, pounding along and all these thoughts about pounding...

Dean pictures library guy though, bend over as he grabs those ridiculous pants and tears them off, underwear and all and pounds into him. Perfect ass that fits perfectly in his hand, his dick leaking as he slowly pulls back, stretching open – Fuck, miniDean is turning not so mini and trying to peek out. His head is pounding again, the big one, reminding him that it was his dick that got him in this mess in the first place.

“'It could have been worse?' Yeah, sure, everything can be worse but no, trust me, I win that category.”

There is a pause and suddenly Dean doesn't like pauses and silences. The man's voice is deep and sincere and when he speaks Dean get shivers all over his body. That, or the alcohol is leaving his system but Dean decides that it's the first option. Cause library dude is hot as hell. He doesn't remember if he's thought that particular thought that night but it doesn't matter. His mind agrees that the hotness of Pantsdude is something that they can think about again anyway.

He can't call him Pantsdude, that's just undignified and if he doesn't want to tell him his name, Dean's going to be the bigger man. He pulls his legs back again into something that resembles a normal sitting position and waves. “I'm Dean. And I can't really call you Curdr – Curry – Dory guy, so how about you tell me your name?”

The man chuckles as he crosses his arms. “Dean, mm?”

Mm, hot baby Jesus in a bun, that sound is a blessing to his ears. How is it possible that a man wearing corduroy pants and a jeans shirt that's trying to be high end 80's fashion can still pull off the impossible feat of being hot? “That's me?” He doesn't mean for it to be a question but in this guy's presence he's starting to question his whole existence. Who even is Dean Winchester if he can't get this on top of him, under him, in him, sideways and perpendicular? He stops for a moment, trying to picture if it's even possible to _be_ perpendicular?

“I'm Castiel.”

Castiel, Castiel, Cas... Caaaas. Yeah, Dean thinks, it does have a ring to it.

Cas chuckles. “That's my name.”

Warmth floods Dean's cheeks as he realizes that's he's said that out loud, like some kind of creep. But his brain, the obnoxious left part of his brain, provides him with reassurance that he's already past the creep stage.

“Well, nice to meet you, Cas. I'm Dean.”

Cas' eyes sparkle with amusement. “You've already told me that.”

Dean crosses his arms, agreeing. Yeah, that he had. Quick, be smart and charming, he demands of himself. And it is pretty demanding with how he is currently. Hangover, horny and handsome. Who is he kidding? It's never demanding to be handsome. Suddenly, his brain provides him with the world's greatest pickup line. “So, what's brought you into the slammer?” Perfect. Isn't the slammer 80's lingo or something?

Cas looks at him, and sure there is amusement there, but maybe something else too. Mutual attraction, a yearning for him to rip Dean's clothes of or just a panicked calculation on how to avoid the weird dude he's currently sharing the slammer with? Dean can't tell. The small lamp hanging from the ceiling isn't Edison's best work exactly.

“I was reading.”

Dean laughs, he can't help himself that this huge belly laugh escapes his throat. Who the fuck is in custody because of reading? He glances at Cas who doesn't seem to take offense. On the contrary, he smiles and his eyes have those bird feet at the corners and he's fucking breathtaking. “Kind of odd, a library guy in this joint because of reading. What were you doing anyway? Burning the books afterward?” Excitement hits him. “Did you _burn_ them?” My dick burns for you. Whoa, not telling Cas that.

Cas looks at him and Dean's stomach does a loop. The scared kind of loop, like Cas with that one look knows everything about him from the proudest moments in his life to the ones he's pushed down deep down in a rickety closet and nailed shut with... nails.

“No. I was reading and I needed better light.”

The robot dude's voice from StarCraft pops up in Dean's mind. _Need a light? _Dean chuckles.”I'm not sure I follow... you needed a better light? For reading?”

Cas shrugs. “It was evening so darkness happens.”

Dean chuckles. Darkness happens. Who even was this guy? Cas, his minds supplies him while a small part of said mind informs him that he's still kind of drunk. This is impossible, cause he has a headache and therefore it can't be a hangover. Hangover comes _after_ the being drunk part.

“Alright, so it was dark outside and you were reading.”

There is humor in Cas' voice as he continues. “Yes, and I had difficulty letting go off the book. It was near the end and the chapter was really captivating.”

Like your eyes, Dean's mind wants to say but luckily Dean shuts his face.

“So, I noticed this building which was really well lit, lights in the sky and on the walls, so I climbed it.”

Dean blinks. “You climbed a building? Tonight?”

Cas laughs. “Tonight, yes.”

“Well, kind of unusual but hardly worth being in here for.”

“I tried telling that to the chopper – “

Dean holds up a hand. Who the fuck is this guy, some freelance Jason Bourne? “There was a chopper?”

“Apparently. Someone saw me scale the building and thought I was trying to rob the bank. I was so engrossed in my book, that I only noticed someone approaching when I got _really_ good reading light. Searchlights really are blinding.”

“Holy fuck, so you had to what, get on your knees, drop the book, hands up in your hair.. um, air, the whole shebang?” Dean imagines running his hands through Cas' hair. He bets it would be velvety, and soft. He's probably beating Sam in the conditioner department. Dean shuts down the thoughts of what Sam will think of Dean's whole ordeal.

“The whole shebang. They seized my book and all – “

“Those assholes!”

Cas nods. “Yes. I had just reached the Dumai's Wells parts. Can't blame me for being engrossed. But luckily, they believed me when I told them about the lights so, this is my dwelling for the night and tomorrow I'm a free man.”

Dean couldn't believe he had the hots for some kind of sexy librarian Mission Impossible Tom Cruise. But way better than Tom Cruise, cause yuck.

Cas pauses, inviting Dean to talk.

Shit, his story is not as badass as Cas'. Well, it's bad and lots of ass but not necessarily in the right combo. He figures that he can make up a lie but his mind pulls the breaks on that idea. Hangover, you're tired, and Cas is a hot guy with pants. Dean is not sure how it's all connected but maybe his mind is on to something. He' sobering up by the minute so his latest thoughts have to be the smartest. Right?

“Well, I'm not here for climbing exactly.” He did climb over the hood of the cop car but shh, some secrets are better left as secrets. Cas looks at him with those eyes, and here he is ready to spill all the secrets of his heart. The stupid, idiotic ones.

“Alright, I was a tad, just slightly over-refreshed. And I was in this drugstore restocking on ...stiff, uh stuff.” There, end of storytime.

Cas leans in closer and Dean's heart is pumping faster. Their knees are almost touching and if that isn't an invitation to say more, his name isn't Dean fucking Winchester.

“You were restocking on?”

It should be illegal to have a smooth, hot, rough voice like that. “Uh cock-socks..condoms.”

Cas looks puzzled so Dean decides to cut his own misery short.

“I needed to make sure they fit.”

He can see how it clicks, in how Cas' eyes widen, how his nostrils flare and he tries to be stoic and how he looks over Dean's shoulder at something invisible. He figures it's a futile effort cause Cas laughs, and it's a deep rich laughter and suddenly Dean wants to hear it again.

“You were naked in the drugstore?”

Dean scoffs. “Not naked, man! I just had my pants down... and my underwear.”

Cas laughs again as he rubs a hand over his face. He composes himself suddenly, an extended hand waving apologetically. “Forgive me, I don't mean to... make light of what has happened to you, Dean.” His lips twitch but he looks composed for now.

“Yeah, so there I was minding my own business, being thorough in my quest for the best condom, ribbed ones, glowy ones, sparkly ones, invisible ones, those that you have to sacrifice your own left nut to buy? I might have knocked down a vase of two...”

Cas nods. “Must have been ugly waves.”

“Yeah, just plain ceramic crap. I mean if you want a vase, get something fancy. Anyways, so this guy asks me to leave, correction, he yells at me.”

“Couldn't he see that you were intoxicated?” Cas asks and Dean's heart swells. Might be his dick too, he was still unsure.

“Yeah, that's my point. Who does _normal _things when they're drunk? Anyway, so being the thoughtful and considerable guy I leave...”

Cas shakes his head. “You leave – “

“Through a door.” Dean starts laughing at the memory. “I mean, it was more of a shuffle cause I forgot to pull my pants back on and the door was maybe a fire exit.”

“Oh, my God”, Cas whispers, horror and humor mingled into one.

Dean makes a face. “Yeah, I might have ran into the police on my way out and tried to flirt with the officer to and said something along the lines of 'If y'got it, flaunt it'. But I did climb the hood of the car, so we have that in common... climbing.” Dean's mind begs him to shut up before he makes a bigger fool of himself. Too late, his asshole mind interjects.

Cas shakes his head, laughing and when he stops, he looks at Dean. “I understand now why you appreciated the change of scenery.”

“Wouldn't you?”

“That I would. So, when do they let you out?”

Dean looks down at his sneakers, trying to remember what the arresting officer said. “Tomorrow I think. Sam, my brother wanted to come and pick me up but I declined.” Dean makes a face. Didn't need his baby brother to know the full extent of his dickery. Better tell a stranger instead. Not that it mattered. He'd never see Cas again after tonight anyway.

“Seems we'll walk out together.”

Like together, together, Dean wants to ask.

Suddenly, Cas turns serious and while Dean can see humor still there, in how his lips quirk up slightly and that shine in his eyes that must be humor and not tears, there is something serious in the air, like he wants to speaks serious words. Words that are heavy with meaning. The power a librarian has over words.

“Dean, you do realize that your whispers are not really that quiet? I'm not a librarian.”

Horror fills Dean and he backs away as much as the walls allow which isn't much. He gets up, trying to get away from his own embarrassment – twice in one night has to be some kind of record – but there are stupid bars in the way.

“Must be the pants,” Dean mumbles.

“The pants?”

“Uh-huh, they're very... Mrs. McGonagall.”

Cas follows Dean with his eyes. “She was a professor.”

“They love libraries. So...” Dean tries to look anywhere but at Cas but it's really hard not too. Has he even looked at himself in the mirror? He's hotter than the sun and Dean is pulled to him, like a stupid moth ready to scream 'yippee ki-yay mother fucker' before flying itself straight into that blazing inferno.

“Dean...”

Dean is not really listening, he's too busy following the mantra of his own mind going _Oh my god_ on repeat.

“Dean!”

Dean startles and finally looks at Cas, with his perfect ocean blue eyes, and dark, soft hair and how the fuck is he so beautiful, even in those godawful pants that does nothing to hide those thighs. His eyes linger on Cas' hands before he looks up again.

“Yeah...”

“I'd love to.”

Dean clears his throats, tries to give his exploding heart a few minutes to calm the fuck down. “Uh.. what?”

Cas takes a step forward, and when did he stand up, and their chests are so close that Dean wonders briefly if Cas is just an apparition of his own kind-of-still-intoxicated mind, cause surely this isn't happening to _him_?

“I'd love to go out with you, Dean.” His voice is dark, alluring and sexy as fuck. And most of all _certain_.

“Right.” Dean clears his throat. “Awesome, me too.” He smiles sheepishly.”Uh, with you, I mean.”

“I figured that.”

Of course, he has. Dean clears his throat again. “I'm.. glad.” Someone shot him now. But Cas doesn't seem to mind his awful awkwardness that suddenly envelops him and with that comes a huge tiredness.

Cas backs away and Dean is grateful. He wants to slump down on the floor and slump down in Cas' arms, and both would've been weird. They have just met. Dean definitely ignores his brain when it informs him that he just told said guy he just met about his drunken dick adventure.

“Do you want my number?” Finally, Dean manages a normal question.

“They have our cell phones. You think you'll memorize it until tomorrow? Or we can wait.”

Dean ponders this question just briefly, cause while he surely has memorized every wrinkle and pore on Cas' face, numbers would be too much. “Tomorrow. Morning. Now I need to sleep off my mistakes.” Dean sinks down onto the bench and grabs a blanket that was folded up into a square nearby. Resting his head on a sad excuse of a pillow, he wraps himself up in the thin fabric

“You're not the mistake, Cas.”

Cas smiles. “Good night, Dean. I'll see you in the morning.”

Dean already snores.


End file.
